Aftermath
by DecemberOfDying
Summary: Jack is blown away in the aftermath of COE, still crushed by Ianto's death. Tegan is recovering from her sister's recent death. Torchwood needs a new member. Jack and Tegan find each other, so what then? R&R A little AU
1. Pain

**PART ONE**

**Ch.1: Pain**

Pain. All there is is pain in the world. Pain and darkness are the objects to which the shadows follow, and shadows are even worse. Everybody leaves and it's like I'm being chopped into thousands of pieces and more, like salt in the wounds, like a Weevil bite.

Pain is my lovers' corpse, who lies in my arms. I've felt pain and pain and always pain. There is no light in this tunnel; the window doesn't open as the door closes. I feel the same pain over and over again and I will always feel that pain for this eternity and the next and the next... What comes after forever? I hope its death, because I'm reaching out for it's touch, but in time even death leaves as they all do.

I've been cursed with this illness, I'm a cancer that is eating up time like it's nothing, and I will always do this.

I woo time and time again, because I'm so desperate to have something warm to lie beside me in my cold winter. I'm pathetic, and I do nothing but break, I'm the glass that slips and falls but seems to never leave. If a cat has nine lives how many do I have?

I look at my empty home, where I know has to house many to protect this planet, but I'm so afraid of letting them in, because they all leave.

How many times have I committed suicide? I've lost count. The pain of death is so real, I sometimes wish that I could relish in it, that I could lose myself in it. But this cursed body of mine will not allow it.

Where is my soul? Did it die with me the first time, or does it still travel with me today? Am I a soulful man? Or am I nothing but a repeated jungle of memories staying intact with my brain?

What reason do I have to carry on? I should just burry myself by my grandsons' grave, in a concrete cell, this time for good because Ianto isn't here to save me. My heart still pulses nothing but pain into my limbs, but I have to carry the burden of the worlds' mistakes on my shoulders. I have to let Torchwood live, because it is the only thing this world has left. I am selfish for even thinking about leaving this world alone, defenseless, like a scared lonely child left in the dark to rot.

Gwen will help me heal, and even if it takes a million of my lives, I will see to her safety, and the safety of her unborn child. As a friend, she deserves that much. She will die of natural causes, and only when she is ready. But for now, I must look for more Torchwood officials…


	2. Goodbye, America

**Goodbye, America. (ch.2)**

Sunlight. It takes eight minutes to travel to the earth, and eight and a half to blind me. The sun's rays travel through my uncovered window and dance on top my eyelids. Instantly I awake, knowing that this is the last morning that American sunlight will graze my skin.

I get up and I stumble down the stairs, only fully awake when I smack my face into the same wall as I do every morning until tomorrow. I shake my hair out of my tear-stained face and walk slowly into the kitchen, and brew my last cup of American coffee. Usually I don't drink coffee, as the bitter taste makes my stomach scream for mercy. But this coffee was a special blend from my great-Uncle Ricoh, who likes me to help in his restaurant. I'm going to miss him.

I fill the dog bowl with water and kibble and shout into the quiet for my beloved friend, who, thankfully, is making this trip with me. I smile at her sleepy face and kiss her cheeks, and then kiss her on the top of her heart. (On her head in the black fur is a heart-shaped pattern, which I just adore!) She stumbles slowly into the kitchen and laps lazily at her bowl with mild interest, and I smile thinking of her first days home, when she couldn't be more excited to gobble all the kibble down as fast as possible.

I continue my journey, slipping into the bathroom to take my last shower in America. I sigh as I step out and dress for my last day in my homeland. I rocket around my small apartment, packing the bedding and utilities and coffee maker, setting the cardboard boxes in the living room with rest of my whole lives' possessions, and sigh once again. Suzy, my one and last companion trot in, whining slightly to get my attention.

"Yes, I suppose you just have to go to the bathroom _right now_." I say to her as she stills at the word, obviously grabbing her attention since it's what she wants. I laugh, because I remember how my lost love used to tease her for being so silly.

I sigh for my third time and grab Suzy's leash, and lead her down my apartment stairs to the communes' garden to where she loves. She does her business in the reserved pets' area and we travel back upstairs, back to my lonely apartment. The truck arrives and I load all the boxes humanly possible, shipping my beloved treasures off to the airport.

I sign the lease to my home, leaving it for the last time. As I drive to the airport, I pet Suzy, who always sleeps soundly in the front seat. I board the airplane, and as it takes off, I say goodbye to America.


	3. Hello, Europe

**Hello, Europe. (ch.3)**

Cardiff. I arrive here, in this place where the missionaries from the nearby villages are shipped to for funerals and burials. I sigh, my seeming trademark now, and try to hold back the stinging tears. I send all my things to the condo I had rented temporarily, and head to the airport bathroom to change into funeral clothes. I was one of the five people showing, and this thought had me in the bathroom stall trying not to sound like a complete idiot, sobbing, collapsed against the toilet in this foreign world.

A few minutes pass and the tears subside, I clean my face with water from another country, and compose my reflection to keep up appearances. (Appearances of what, I do not know.)

I drop off Suzy at the complex and drive to my sisters' burial, where I met the people who where there as she suffered her heart attack. They say "I'm so sorry for your loss," and "I hope things get well," but I know they don't mean it. To them, yes, my story is sad. But my story to them is just that—a story. And it will always just be a sad little story with a sad little character and one of many, many sad little stories. They don't feel sympathy for me—they don't know her. They don't know Rachel. So how could their words mean anything to a family of strangers?

I almost laugh at the service, because I had always imagined for her funeral to be loaded with people at home, in our own church. And then I really do laugh when I realized there's no one else but me to come to the funeral.

I leave and go back to the condo, where the manger tells me I won't staying long, since my low offer on a pricey apartment (or, in his words, loft) had been taken, and I was ready to move in today. I sighed and called a trucking company, where they took me to the heart  
of Cardiff and I moved into my new home in an alien world.

I went to the local diner and ate my first meal in Europe. I went home, took my first shower in Europe, and then, unpacking the bedding, went to sleep for the first night in Europe.


	4. A Feeling

**Feeling. (ch.4)**

"Gwen?" I called into the rusty air of the newly constructed Torchwood lair, the smell of coffee in the air. Coldness clenched my heart as I remembered my dear Ianto, my butler, my coffee maker. I choke back sobs and tears and search for Gwen, as she calls from the kitchen.

"Gwen, you really should be home considering your condition!" I told her shortly in mock seriousness, indicating her swollen stomach.

"I'm fine!" she screeched, emerald eyes wide when frustration and importance.

I sigh, as I cannot fight her, and accept the coffee she all but shoves into my hand with a small, faint smile. I sip at my morning elixir and shut my eyes for a quick, tear-jerking moment—the coffee tasted just the same as when Ianto had made it.

When I open my eyes again, I see Gwen looking at me with sadness, remembrance, and a hint of admiration. "What's that look for?" I ask, and she directs her attention to her desk, ignoring me with a simple 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

I silently thank her, for I cannot bear to discuss my lover out loud, not just yet. She seems to know and understand this; she avoids the topics nearly daily now, working on finding help while I deal with the Torchwood business.

I check the database for changes in the Rift, and the results are clear—today is slow. Everyday has been that way since we came back. I wonder if the Void has given up on spitting things out, or if it is simply taking a nap.

"A list of previous one-way tickets purchased into Cardiff though the airport." Gwen says, downloading a list of files.

"Cross-reference where they'll be staying with Rift Activity areas. Then print out a list of the lucky few who might be getting any 'bumps in the night.'" I order, and she complies. We've been looking into possible victims lately, and we still keep coming up dry. I wonder if all the good Torchwood agents are extinct. We've already looked into all the 'good-morals' doctors at the nearest hospitals and clinics, and even the vets! None of them had what it takes to be on the front line. So we're looking into the police, and anyone new in town.

I sigh. Paperwork has never been my favorite. I look sadly at Gwen, who's been confined to paperwork for the past seven months. Over a half of a year of doing nothing but staring at a computer screen, I wonder why she hasn't screamed yet...

My stomach growls, and Gwen smiles looking up from her desk. "I'll have fish and chips, then." I smile and reply with a witty and sarcastic, 'Aye, aye. Captain!' she giggles and turns back to her screen.

Standing, I take the Invisible Lift, (an exact replica of the one before, only faster,) and walk into the center, picking the usual restaurant and ordering my food.

And as I ate, I had the oddest feeling, as if fate had its' fickle thumb pressed onto me...


	5. The First Occurence

**The first occurrence (ch.5)**

My first day waking up in a whole different world was saddening. I fed Suzy, let her out into my new garden, and left the mostly-unpacked apartment, heading into town for some tea and breakfast.

I didn't know what was good, so I chose a restaurant at random. I don't know why I chose this particular restaurant, but it seemed to pull me, it seemed different, though the alcoholic stinge radiating from the black wooden doors instantly turned my stomach.

Ever since I was little, the smell of yeast had made me turn my back and run, run, run, but now I turned to the doors and let myself into the Bar. It must have been the air, or maybe the fish I'd had the night before, or maybe, after my sister's death, a drink just sounded  
really good, though every fiber of my being said it was really bad. But, this I know, walking into that Bar was the _best_ decision I had ever made.

Upon walking in, my stomach reeled and I swear it committed suicide off the Brooklyn Bridge. I held my gut and tried to escape to the bathroom, but I ran into a waiter, staggering before I dragged both of us down. The glass on his tray shatter along with my pride and I wanted to sink into the ground, I wanted to lie next to my sister in  
her grave, and I wanted that drink really, really bad.

"So sorry, I'm so, so sorry!" I mumbled to the waiter, as I attempted to scoop up some glass from the floor. He accepted my apology and staggered off to find a broom, as I was left with the broken shards of my humiliation.

"Here," I paused at the American accent and looked up with wide eyes at the man before me. He looked out of a painting, he looked like the angel of war, and he looked at me. I took his hand and he helped me off the ground, staring into my eyes all the same. I wanted to thank him, I wanted to kiss him and I wanted him to hold me and tell me that  
it's okay, that I'm dead now and I'm in heaven, and I get to see my parents and sister, and he's just here to escort me. I wanted so many things, but all I could do was stare at his beauty in awe with wide, silver eyes. Seeming hours passed but really only seconds and the man pulled away, his eyes flashing the pain I see every morning in the mirror. _He lost someone _I realize and this fact saddens me. I watch him fake a smile and gather his to-go food and walk out the Pub.

I don't know what had possessed me, but I followed him out of the Pub, fifteen feet away at all times, I followed turn after turn until suddenly, I watched him step onto a Sidewalk I did but didn't see and disappear.

I keep my eyes trained on that Sidewalk, but as I got closer it was harder to remember why I was here, and random things kept popping into my mind, such as Suzy still outside and if I had locked the door or not, but those eyes were burned into my memory and I kept them there until they were all I could see. Closer and closer I got, and the random thoughts surged back over and over, but I repressed them and continued on. Finally, three feet away from this mysterious Sidewalk, which I couldn't exactly remember why I was staring at it, only that it was related to those pain filled eyes, the need to be a far away from that place as humanly possible consumed me and I ran to my flat, shutting the doors and windows, locking them, then bursting into tears for whatever reason I couldn't remember...


	6. Aftershock

**Aftershock (ch.6)**

I took the Invisible Lift into the Hub, the strange occurrence with the silver-eyed woman still consuming my mind. She seemed different than most, her curious nature and obvious dislike toward alcohol's wrenching smell, and the feel of her hand seemed to linger, the smell of her polluting my nostrils. It was the way she looked at me, with such experience and hurt in her past and still the ever curiosity that reminded me of Ianto. At that I had turned away from the woman, sending her a quick, fake smile that she seemed to dissect before fleeing the Bar.

"There's a woman that's spotted the service entrance." Gwen announced as soon as I walked into the Hub, her eyes scanning the security footage. At the word 'woman' I froze, quickly making my way to where Gwen was stationed, staring at the computer. _It couldn't be..._

There she was—that woman. She must have followed me, and she must have noticed that I disappeared near the Sidewalk. "Heighten the defenses of the Lift. When she gets five feet away, we'll pull a security breech. She was at the Bar, she must have followed me..." I voiced my fears and Gwen did as she was told, keeping the camera trained on the  
woman's' every move...

As I walked back to my desk, I saw Gwen squint into the computer screen, zooming in on the woman's face and frowning...

After the security was measured up, I sighed, relaxing back into my chair and glancing at the photo on my desk. It was one of the entire team—Gwen, Tosh, Owen, Ianto and I. It was a little burnt from the explosion back before... I had to stop myself. I couldn't cry in front Gwen, she would stop paying attention to the woman if that happene...

"SHE'S THREE FEET AWAY!" Gwen screamed and I jumped up, holding my gun towards the entrance while keeping an eye on the security footage, which Gwen had transferred to the big screen. The woman had a determined, saddened look in her eyes, sweat glistening on her brow. She advanced two more feet, when suddenly, her face relaxed, went blank, and she turned on her heal, running in the opposite direction. Gwen, who had ducked under her desk in attempt to protect her herself and her unborn child, whispered something about the security measures kicking in. I sighed once again and relaxed. I would deal with it tomorrow, but for now the day was over and my headache, which I didn't realize I had, had worsened. Saying goodnight to Gwen, I excused myself and went to my chamber.


	7. Three Days

**PART TWO**

**Three Days (ch.7)**

Three days. I've spent three days, alone in my apartment, doors and windows closed, dreaming only of the saddest eyes, eyes belonging to a god. I don't remember where I've seen these eyes before, only that I'd followed them to a strange Sidewalk.

I can barely remember that day. I know that I had gone into town for some food, and I had walked into a Bar...

_Was it at the Bar that I saw those painful eyes? And how did I end up at the Sidewalk?_ I consider this as I lie in the center of my bed, curled up in the feeble position, with the covers and blankets all around me. Four blankets, as Cardiff is so much colder than my home. I should probably let back some of the blankets. It's hard to breathe.

_The Bar. What happened there? And where did I see those eyes?_

I remember a voice, American, and it saying something to me. _Where did I hear this voice?_

The voice, those eyes, the Bar... _The Bar._ It all happened there. I jump out of bed suddenly, scrambling to untangle my limbs from the sheets and hurriedly dressing myself. I have to go to the Bar. I have to see this God's eyes again. _I have to know, what made me forget?_

I'm ready in seeming seconds and I'm running out the door, hurtling towards the Black Doors. The closer I get to the halfway point, the more my blood pounded through my veins in anticipation. I don't slow until the string of restaurants and bars thicken. A vision is in my mind; black wooden doors and the stench of alcohol.

Twenty minutes pass of staring at the same doors of the same restaurants and the same bars that are all of one fact; _not _my _Bar, _and I were about to give up. Then, just as I was turning to leave, I saw the black wooden doors of my dream. They were exactly the same—there was no mistake. The Bar was right in front of me—right in the middle of the street. I must have staring at this street for hours, so how did I not see or smell what was right in front of me?

I move slowly and cautiously towards the doors. The smell of alcohol and my memories intensify as I close in on my target. When I finally get there, I tug on the door handle—only to not have the door open. I tug again, same result. I glance at the sign—today it's closed. Damn. I sigh angrily and fish my lucky pen and notebook out of my backpack and write down a few quick notes of what happened, then at the top I write, in bold, large letters, **'Read Me.'** _I am not going to forget this_. I also write down the hours and plan to come back Tuesday.

I smile at my progress at retreat back to my apartment, where I sit down and write my new book—_The Mysterious Blue Eyes_. I smile once again. _I will find you, my sad-eyed warlord. I promise._


	8. The Baby

**The Baby (ch.8)**

Three days it has been since Jack had seen that woman, and she was the farthest thing from his mind. In Gwen's mind, however, the topic was rather of great consequence.

Gwen had searched day and night for where she had seen that woman's face before, with no result. Three days that woman, so strong and determined as to resist the power of the Hub's defense systems, had plagued Gwen's mind, and three days Gwen had been squealing in frustrations. _Where had I seen her before? And why was it so important to remember?_ Gwen sighed and stroked the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes tightly and wishing desperately for a drink. Rubbing her belly, she wadded to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of orange juice.

Pouring a glass, Gwen suddenly dropped the carton and screamed, clutching her swollen stomach and tears brimming her eyes. Her stomach was throbbing as she clutched her abdomen. With a voice of pure venom, she shouted to Jack, 'The baby's coming! _Get your bloody arsehole in here now and take me to the damned Hospital!_'

Jack came running in with a look between joy and fear, and carried Gwen out of the hub and towards his car, rushing to the Hospital as fast as he could, even going as far as putting a Torchwood authority siren on the roof. Once there, Jack ran into the lobby, screaming at nurses and doctors of the like to come help. Once Gwen was safely in the ER, he phoned Rhys and told the joyful, anticipating father-to-be the great news, his own heart jolting painfully at the memories resurfacing.

In the emergency room, Gwen gently jolted in remembrance, screaming out _'She's—the one-way tickets—someone get me a pen!'_ The nurses and Doctors simply turned away, not knowing what she meant nor really caring what she meant, and the matter was soon forgotten as Gwen was swept into another wave of agonizing pain…


	9. Strange Ongoings

**Strange Ongoings (ch 9)  
**

One week it had been since I had the courage to investigate, and step outside my apartment. And one week it has been of not going to my new residence except the occasional meal and shower and eventually sleep.

I had no idea how interesting Cardiff was. It's not spewing out tourist attractions at every turn, unlike all the other places I've been outside my home. And this in itself was most interesting. Cardiff, it seemed, was an innocent, loving family city by day, and by night it was a raving darkened carnival filled with lustful adulterers and shifting strangers at every turn. The change was so drastic, so extravagant, so unexpected, and so breathtakingly _attractive_. I wanted to drown in it. Cardiff was both the equivalence to _America's sweetheart,_ and the 1800's Salem witchcraft trials. And it was irrevocably _beautiful_.

I felt as if there was something inside me craving more of this nighttime Cardiff, as if there was a secret ingredient to it that I had been starved of my entire existence, as if I _needed_ whatever it was that this new world had to offer. And what I felt scared me. I had never been so comfortable in a new place, in closer spaces and tighter air. A part of me—granted, a very _weak_ part, but I felt it growing stronger every second I was in this place—had felt at _home_ here, in _this _place… But the part of me that had always been, the part of me that I was absolutely sure was me, this part of me told me to stay _very far_ away from this place, that this place was so… Dangerous. Too dangerous. This was the part of me that was terrified, because I know now that the other part was getting way too strong way too fast, and soon I would be out of control.

I was in a bar. No—not 'a' bar—_the _Bar. I was in the Pub that I remember to have seen those saddened, haunted eyes. The blue eyes of a lord, _of my lord_.

I was in this Bar when it happened. My pulse quickening, beads of sweat forming across my skin and shivers shaking me head to toe. And suddenly, everything was black…

_Flashing lights, jumbled sounds and a ringing in my ears, this is my world. I hear shouting, but it's muted; faint. Red, blue, red blue, redblue redblue redblueredblue. All I see are colors... Someone needs me. I know this. I see... I see, I see__blue eyes__. Blue eyes. And… Black doors. These doors are thick, and I know I've been staring at them for a very long time. And I see... A... I see a Sidewalk..._

_Someone is talking to me. They're asking me to come back. Back where? I don't want to leave this place. It's so warm, and I feel so light. Why would they want me to leave this? It's so nice..._

"Ma'am. Can you hear me? Ma'am! What is the year? Ma'am, can you hear me? She's not responding. We need to start CPR. Someone get me an AED. One! Two! Three! Four…"

There's something inside me. I can feel it. It's not something good, and it's been there for a very long time…

"Five! Six! Seven! Eight…"I remember something coming to me when I was a little girl…"Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve…"Such a bright light…

"So far, I know that the patient had collapsed from restricted air. It seemed that her diaphragm had… _defaulted_, somehow. It works perfectly fine now, and I don't expect it to happen again. But I would keep an eye out for your tenant, Mr. Sanders. You said her name was…?"

"Tegan Farrow. She's just moved 'ere from America. No family, though 'er sister's just died. I think she 'as nightmares. I wake up to the sound of 'er screaming in the middle of the night, but I'm always too afraid to check up on 'er. Givin' 'er some space, you know?"

They don't know I'm awake yet. The voice, he says that I collapsed. I don't remember that. I don't remember anything. All I remember are blue eyes and black doors. Where had I seen them before? For some reason, it feels like I've spent a long time trying to figure that out. Why? Where these things that important? I _have _to know where I'd seen them! But first I have to _get out of this Hospital_!

I rubbed my new scar, on my belly and tears brimmed my eyes, why I don't know.

The smell of bleach and chlorine reach my nostrils and my stomach reels. I hate hospitals. I sit up and look around-nothing but white and white and more white. White furniture, white curtains and white sheets. I'm wearing a white dressing gown. The cheap kind that tie and button up the back, but not quite enough to cover your ass. I hear babies crying and shouts of orders from here to there. The bitter taste of metal and blood is in my mouth, and I have a feeling that it's not going away anytime soon.

The words of the orderly and my landlord rush back to me all at once. _Nightmares._ I hadn't thought that he had heard me. Tears brim my eyes and I swallow hard, gulping down sweat and tears and a lot of saliva. My throat hurts, and my mouth is scratchy. I need to get out of this place. My legs are going numb, pens and needles gathering at my feet and hands.

I slowly undercover my legs and slip off the hospital bed. I look at my chart—I'm at Velindre N H S Trust Hospital. That's not far from the apartment—I turn, making my decision to run all the way home, to pack my things and leave. Leave Velindre, leave Cardiff, and leave the United Kingdom. I want to go back to the beginning. If I'm in America, I'll be okay. _If I just get to America, I'll be safe._

I take off, out the door, down the hallway, past waiting rooms and into the stairs.

Of course, I've never been in a building in Cardiff that's bigger than one story, unless you count my apartment, which I don't because those are Mr. Sanders' stairs. And, of course, nobody in America really used the stairs unless there was an absolute emergency. All these common facts build up to one conclusion; I did _not_ expect what was going to happen next.

He had brown hair, brown eyes and a lot of white skin. His mouth was thin and his breath was short. He had worry lines streaking across his brow, and sweat gathering on his upper lip. And all of his brown eyed, brown haired worried beauty came smashing into my still-frail body at once, knocking both my breath out of my lungs and me on my ass. My silver eyes were wide and my short brown hair was everywhere. My weakened limbs gave out from under the weight of this terrified man and I collapsed, gasping for breath and cheek pressing painfully against the corner of a stair.

The man, clumsy and embarrassed, immediately stood, and swaying dangerously, he grasped onto the railing and paled. "Sorry," he gasped out once he sort of had his breath, "Are you okay?" He asked me, his bleary gaze on me now.

Well, no, I'm not okay actually. I think I'm going insane, I'm alone in this crazy world with no family and no friends. I'm so pathetic that I never use my money when I need it. And when I finally get the sense to go home, a blubbering buffoon slams himself into me, probably infecting me with whatever disease he has, and I'm now lying crumbled on the floor, limbs scattered and probably broken. So to answer your question no, I'm not okay!

"I'm fine. Just in a rush." He nodded as I limped my way to a standing point.

I don't know if it was the adrenaline rush dying down, or the fact that he still looked pale, but after staring at him for a few minutes, him just standing there, looking dazed out of his mind, I finally grabbed hold of his arm and led him up the stairs.

"What floor?" I looked him in the eye then, and he looked back, shocked and distant.

"8th. The maternity ward." I could have laughed then, as it explained everything. Either this guy was trying to have a baby, or his wife was. This information completely explained the dazed, distant, distracted nature. He was going to be a father. It was obviously his first, and I pondered on the gender. Did he want the baby? Wasn't he scared? One look at his face answered both questions—yes. Yes to both questions. Yes he wanted that baby, possibly more than I wanted to be halfway down the block. Yes he was scared; he was terrified.

"What's your name?" Even though his face was distant, and he was pale as a ghost and sweating like a pig, I knew he would answer all the questions I asked.

"Rhys." He glanced up at me as to ask the same, and I gave a half-hearted, crooked smile that I hoped to god didn't look like a grimace.

"Tegan."

We walked steadily up the stairs, one by one, arm in arm, in silence.

When we reached the 8th floor, I saw through the little window the hospital security. No doubt they've found out that I'm missing by now. I was able to pick out the words 'Mr. Sanders' from their lips. I froze just before the door, sidestepping the window a little, so as to be out of their sight. Rhys stopped, noticing my sudden tension. He gave me an odd look, finally noticing my attire, and then looking back from me to the hospital security.

Finally after several, tense moments, moments that seemed to last forever in the wonder if he'll turn me in, hand me over, he looked back at me and said, "I guess this is your stop. Sorry for tripping over you." After so he turned away, slipping through the door and disappearing right before my eyes.

"I hope your child is as nice as you."

My words slipped into the silent oblivion of this stairwell, and I turned my back and ran straight to home, all attention of leave Cardiff disappearing along with the hospital, shrinking smaller and smaller into the distance until it was no more.


	10. A Dream

**A Dream? (ch.10)**

I can see her. The woman, I haven't thought about her for days, _weeks_ even. I can see the silver-eyed woman. Is she but a dream? Am I asleep or is this my reality?

Through the cluttered and distraught Hospital hallway, through a windowpane on the stairway doors, I see _her_, for just a moment. Was it real? Was it all a dream? Her eyes widen and I wish they were at me, but not, for they were directed to the policemen and security just outside the door. Her silver eyes widen and she is pulled out of my sight, out of my mind, and away from me. I feel as if part of me is torn away with her, and this makes since not, for I do not even know her name.

I cross that hall and the next, my horizon zooming in closer. _You don't even know her._ I know her well. _You don't know her name. _I know the name of her homeland. _She just spoke to you once, so you heard her accent. That's not the same. _I spoke once to her, and she followed me as far as she could. Farther than anyone ever has. _Farther than Ianto? _I stop. What am I doing? I'm going after a girl I saw once, and I'm not even thinking about it. What would I do if I were right in front of her? Would I speak to her, ask her name? Kiss her?

Suddenly I'm in front of the security guard and he's asking me questions. I don't want to listen to him; I don't want to listen to anyone except her. He's asking if I'd seen a girl in a hospital gown. I shoot him a sarcastic look. I zone out, and back in. Over and over. He's showing me a picture of the girl he's looking for. I look at it so it would seem I'm paying attention. It's her. I listen. He says that she had metabolized the sedative faster than they thought, and that she had woken up and gone somewhere. She's disappeared, and I know where she is. Why isn't my mouth opening, telling him to look behind him? Why won't I tell him that I'm the only one that knows where she is, that she's running away, fast and that she could be gone any second. I open my mouth, and I think I'm going to tell him. I ask her name.

A second he pauses, and my hope shoot skyward. He states, almost robotically, that he can't tell me because it's patient/doctor confidentiality, and that even if he could, he doesn't know. I frown as he walks away and head to the stairwell. I'll tell her that the guards are looking for her. She'll look at me as if I'm her hero, just as she did that day. I'll lead her out of the hospital and away from this place. I'll take her home and tuck her into her bed. I might even shag her.

But she's not there, and Rhys is walking out of the stairwell. He looks scared and pale, and I know exactly why. I ask him if he'd been with someone in the stairwell. His eyes go wide and he rapidly tells me that he'd just now met her and that he wasn't involved with her. Of course, the stupid git wouldn't know what I'm talking about. I ignore him and ask her name.

He paused, stood up straight and with a look of puzzlement on his face, his mouth opens.

"Tegan."


	11. Shocked Speechless

**Shocked Speechless (ch.11)**

Tegan. _Tegan._ Her name is Tegan. _Why does that name sound so familiar? _

I couldn't stay here. I love Gwen, I really do, but I can't stay here. I have to go back to the Hub—_I have to find out where I'd heard her name before!_

I made a quick exit through the door that Rhys had come through, without looking at his face. I couldn't bear to see those eyes again. They were the reflection of that day—_I can't think about this! I have to get back to the Hub; I have to follow up on her—_Tegan.

The passing down the stairs was fast, and went by in a hazy blur. The only thing I can tell you about the time between seeing Rhys upstairs and sitting in the car is that I didn't pass _her_. I might have passed other people—a stranger's face here or there. They were all blurred together, their significance to me so unimportant; nonexistent. And all I could think about on my way to the car was Tegan. _Why did she keep showing up? Granted, Cardiff isn't exactly New-New-Manhattan, but it's no small village either. And why would she run from the hospital like that? Is she in some type of trouble? How could she get past the Hub's defenses, and when they were on high sensitivity too? Who is Tegan? I'll have to look through the hospital records, too. I don't know her last name. For now, I'll scan the system for 'Tegan', as it isn't exactly a common name anyway. That'll narrow the search, and then I'll cross-reference it with the hospital records._

I nodded at my plan and started the car. I didn't move yet—_couldn't_. My breath was shallow and heaving, and it felt as if the world was crashing around me. It felt like nothing I'd ever felt before, not even the time the Ranchos had suffocated me on 'accident'. My vision was blurred and the purr of the engine reverberated against my ears, mixing with the sound of my heart pulsing unpleasantly. I felt the crash of thirty-seven heartbreaks, one for every person I've lost. I really shouldn't leave Gwen here alone. She has Rhys, but he's hardly help. What if something were to happen?

I looked out my windshield towards the blood-red doors of the staircase, and the thought of going back up there, with that smell of bleach and babies crying and mother's screaming and doctors shouting, made my stomach qualified for the Olympics. I pulled out of park. _Gwen will be fine_. I shifted into reverse. _Rhys will take care of her._ I checked my mirrors again. _The doctors are there, and she has that phone of hers to tell me if something's wrong._ I slowly pressed my foot against the pedal. _The alarms would go off if there were any rift or alien activity._ This metal box I'm encased in backed out of the parking garage, onto the road and took me far away.

_Be safe, Gwen._

Hours after Gwen had given birth she wasn't tired. She knew what had happened—Rhys told her. Her nurse is still in med school so she could be a doctor. She has a computer with her. Jack had left without telling anyone. Gwen knew he would go to the Hub. He would search _her_ name in the database.

And she couldn't let that happen.

Gwen couldn't let him take over this case. It's the only thing exciting that's happened in months, besides a Weevil here and there, and even _then_ she couldn't have fun because she's stuck here being pregnant.

Gwen needed this case. She really, _really_ did.

She smiled sweetly at her nurse, who was sitting at the table in her room, snacking on her lunch—she'd decided to study in Gwen's room on her lunch break, the angel—working diligently on her laptop. Her brown eyes met Gwen's and sparkled with the smile she gave her in return.

'Claire? Could I please barrow your laptop? I just remembered something about a case that I'm working on—it's important.' She'd known that Gwen's a "police" woman, so she understood what she meant about "case"—or at least she thought she did.

She smiled fully and warmly ate, mumbling a 'Yes,' around her peanut butter banana sandwich and saving her work, bringing it to Gwen.

Gwen smiled at her once again, though this time it wasn't as sincere—not that the others were, this one was just rushed as she logged onto the network heatedly. _Jack, please let there be traffic, please be sluggish, please don't have already seen it._

Tegan Farrow. Her entire existence is in this file. There is some paper beside Gwen. She copied it hand-written—Jack would find it if she emailed it to herself.

_Tegan Erin Farrow._

_Height: 5'6''_

_Weight: 121.5_

_Hair color: Brown_

_Eye color: Silver_

_Occupation: Science Fiction Novelist _

_Residence: 7__th__ Oakwood Grove, apartment 1B_

Goodbye, Tegan Erin Farrow.

_[Delete]_

I arrived at the Torchwood base two hours later; being that there was traffic. I rushed inside, opening the door and trying hard not to look at the coffeepot. I ran to the computer, and logged into the system.

Tegan

The system's motherboard hummed a nice hum and I waited, getting a cup of tea. Before I could get too into the relaxation of this familiar place, a slight beeping caught my attention. I looked to the screen—

I couldn't believe it.

Tegan's file was there. It was _there_. I jumped up, but before I could get close enough to read it, the file just… Just… _Disappeared. _I couldn't believe it. _How? _My grin had dropped from my face and I frowned. No—It _couldn't!_

Someone had logged on and deleted her file from the system.

And there's only one other person that can do that.

_Why would she do that? Why would she delete her from the system? She's supposed to be asleep—after all, delivering a child can be tiring. Why would she do that? It's not as if she knew I was interested in Tegan—I hadn't had the chance to tell her that yet. Why is she doing this? Has she gone rouge? _I froze. No, no it couldn't be that. Gwen would never—_I can't think that! She's the only person I have left. _

I walked over to my office, down through my personal headquarters and into my bedroom. I stood there, facing the bed, my eyes suddenly pouring fountains. This was so much—I couldn't stand this. Gwen would be fine at the hospital alone—she could handle herself. If anything, she's proven that to me today. I couldn't think—about _anything, _not anymore. My brain was a haze, my eyes stinging and pouring out liquid heat, burning my cheeks. I remember when I would have a bad day before. I would come home; I would lie down in my bed, naked and in a pool of lavender sheets, slipping into nothingness until _He_ came, like an angel, my beloved. He would caress away my silent worries and sooth my soul until I was a puddle of unidentifiable goo.

The tears came down harder now and I ripped off my antique war coat, my shirt and trousers following until I stood, naked. I fell backwards, my back meeting the mattress with a reassuring _thud_. I laid there, sadness and worry and depression and _pain_ engulfing me. There were no thoughts, no motions excluding the heaving of my chest, no sound except the sobs that drifted throughout the room and the insistent patter of the rain outside.

There was nothing but pain, and then that slowly faded into my dark restless sleep, filled with nightmares of so many creatures.

The last thing that passed through my mind before I fell into a dreamless sleep was two solitary words.

_Goodbye, Tegan._


	12. The Kindness & Harshness of Strangers

**Ch.12 The Kindness and Harshness of Strangers**

I stood at my door, when I realized I couldn't get in. My keys were in my pocket of my jeans—which were somewhere in the hospital. I could hear Suzy whining—she never barks—and I tried to reassure her. But I couldn't. I was too scared and too exhausted and my feet hurt too much—I'm pretty sure they're bleeding. I was so confused and this day was so long, and I couldn't get into my own damn apartment. And my sister was dead. And my parents were dead. And the only people that know who I am were my landlord, and my editor, and maybe a few fans who don't buy enough of my books to keep me in my own damn country. I'm lost and I'm cold and I'm hungry and I'm so alone. My head is fuzzy and I can't see right. The sky is black and stormy—the heavens are about open up and unleash their wrath on me. Suzy's crying again. She always does that when I'm sad about something. I think she learned it from me.

I laid down on my front porch, in nothing but a hospital gown. The skies drenched me. I cried. I think I screamed a few times too. I couldn't hear anything over the lightening. The trees in the garden were shaking. I was shaking too. I wondered why I wasn't drowning. Maybe I died. Maybe hell is a place where the sky cries with you and your only friend is crying and you're screaming. Maybe hell is my broken heart shattering all over again. Maybe hell is the frostbite you get when you lie on your porch for hours in the pouring rain wearing nothing but a plastic gown. The horrid pain on your hands and feet and nose and ears. Your eyes burning and your hair slowly drying along with the dirt and leaves it picked up. The humiliation you get when your elderly neighbor finds you the next morning shriveled up on the concrete bawling your eyes out.

Her name is Amelia Scarlet she says as she lets me in her own apartment, smelling of tea and soap and home. She leads me to the kitchen where she sets me in a very comfortable chair and sets about making tea, calling her grandson to help pick my lock and then she tells me of her late husband. She tells me the adventures she had with him. She tells me her parents died in a car accident when she was little and she went to live with an old foster family who only accepted a few people. I stay silent but I think she can read the understanding and pain on my face. She tells me how she fell in love. She tells me how they traveled the world. She tells me how he became an art museum curator in the smallest museum in the world, a little shop in the middle of a busy nowhere somewhere in Asia. I smile at her stories. I tell her about how I'm a science fiction writer. How I write about little girls meeting aliens or dying and becoming the first guardian angel or how they meet a man who traveled the stars. I tell her I come from a small town in a big state in America, how I grew up in a Christian community even though almost everyone I met did drugs or got pregnant way too soon. How I wasn't really a people person and sometimes I had to just lock myself away. I tell her about my Mom, and my Dad, and my sister. I tell her I'd known I would be a writer since I was eleven. I tell her I'd never had a boyfriend or even kissed a soul in my life. I tell her about a strange man in a strange Bar and a strange Sidewalk. And I tell her about the city at night and a hunger that comes from inside me but isn't really me.

After two cups of tea and a lot of talking, Amelia Scarlet shows me her bathroom and tells me to take a long, hot shower and not to worry about the water bill or any nonsense of that sort. She puts out some of her granddaughters' clothes (as her grandchildren are very fond of her stories and come to stay quite often,) on the toilet seat and a towel as well.

I turn the faucet and shed myself of the ragged cloth that had dried but still yet clung to my tired and worn form. I place it in the trash bin beside the door. I wish I could sew my memories to it and throw away those as well. The water is hot. I push aside the lavender curtains and bury myself under the steamy air. The liquid engulfs me and I sigh, rubbing my tense muscles. I turn my head down and watch the dirt disappear into the strange darkness of the water drain. I think I see the crimson of my blood fall into that abyss as well; of that I cannot be sure. Halfway through the shower Amelia pokes her head in to say her grandson has picked my lock, and had heard my dog so he fed her and watered her and let her outside, and that he will be staying for tea. I thank her and take the soap from the window ledge beside me, the smells calming me and releasing my tension. I finish my shower regrettably, but I look forward to more of Amelia Scarlet's stories. I smile numbly and climb out of the shower, drying my sore body and putting on barrowed clothes. The clothing is modest—I silently thank Amelia for her insight to my taste.

I look in the mirror. The last time I'd seen my reflection was before I collapsed in the clubhouse's bathroom. I had been pale and pasty with bags under my bloodshot eyes, my hair sticking out in all directions and loosing its color to a dull shade. My eyes, usually sparkling, had been dull grey storming clouds, unfocused and tired. Now I look hesitantly in the ageing mirror of Amelia Scarlets'. My skin is glowing its usual olive tone and my silver eyes are shining even though they are exhausted and have cried many tears. My hair is wet (of course,) and lying against my skull in an untamed mess. The clothes of a stranger sit on my shoulders and my breath is a little bad. I barrow Amelia's toothpaste and rub it against my teeth with my finger. Not really something to make a habit of, but it gets the job done. At last I'm ready to face home. I'm ready to face my blue-eyed warlord.

I exit the steamy room and enter the kitchen from which I hear chatter. Amelia is sitting framed in the sunlight streaming from the window and looking beautiful. I never understood why people always said 'she must have looked so beautiful when she was young,' for beauty isn't measured by time. It's ageless. Amelia is the perfect proof of that. Across from her sits an equally handsome teenage boy. _He must be her grandson. _He smiles at me and silences when I enter the room, reaching out a hand in a friendly gesture, telling me his name is Ronald Scarlet when we exchange hands.

"Thank you for picking my lock and taking care of my dog, I was feeling under whether and had…_ forgotten _my key." The last part I said mostly to Amelia, who nodded with a knowing look. She knew I didn't exactly want everyone knowing I'd come from the hospital. I smiled thankfully at her in return, vaguely hearing Ronald talking to me about how beautiful Suzy is and how she was such a good dog.

"Well, I better be off. Thank you, once again, and thank you, Amelia for helping me out and providing me with such comfort. I hope we can be great friends." She smiles warmly at me and replies with an 'I'm sure we will be,' and she led me to the door, embracing me slightly and watching me retreat into my apartment with a worried look, as if she genuinely cared for me and my safety, as if I was one of her own children or grandchildren, staring after me as I slipped into my doorway and only smiling and waving slightly when I look back for a millisecond, before the door in front of me closes on the scene and the kind elderly woman disappears from my sight.

I sigh as I walk into my empty apartment. There are still boxes everywhere. The couch is still wrapped up in plastic. It's as if I don't live here, as if I'm just a phantom. I hadn't even set up the bed, just laid the pieces in the bedroom floor and slept on the mattress. I sighed again. I pulled out a kitchen knife from the box labeled 'Kitchen—silverware' and slit the plastic on the sofa, then set the cushions in their place. I pack away the books and things on the bookshelves next, and hook up my TV, though I don't really use it much. I rearranged and shifted and pulled until it looked at least like it had potential to be half as homely as Amelia's apartment. I stopped and looked at the place. It didn't have many memories yet. But I knew it would. The last things I put away were the pictures on the mantel. One of my sister and I when we were on top of Guadalupe Peak. My graduation photo. One of my Mom and Dad, their prom picture.

And one of us all the day we got back from canoeing on the Trinity River, we were all on the back porch of the cabin we were staying in, all smiling and laughing. Mom and Dad were staring into each others eyes, my Mom captured in mid-laugh, my Dad leaning in to kiss her nose. Their arms were wrapped around each other, so loving. My sister was staring at the camera, with her arm slung around my shoulders and her left leg draped over my own. I was exhausted looking with a dopey smile on my face, chocolate smores caking my lips and my arms wrapped around her waist, my head resting on her shoulder. My mom always said that this was her favorite picture of all time. I think I'm crying. I'm not sure until Suzy spots me and walks over, laying by my feet and whining. I choke out a laugh and lay beside her. I lay there until she was quiet and I was quiet. The world was quiet, and I think the wind held its breath. All too soon she wanted lunch. I laughed and the wind started to blow again.

I finished unpacking the kitchen and my bedroom too soon, and it was noon now, the sky clearing up and the sun poking out of its hiding place. I smile, and grab my coat—altogether forgetting that I was wearing Amelia's granddaughter's clothes—and made for the door. I pet Suzy one more time and promise my safe return.

I'm going to meet the man of my dreams today.

_Literally._

Gwen knew what she had to do.

She's sitting on the baby blue sheets of the hospital bed. She's being discharged. She looks at this room, which should bring her happiness because she gave birth to my first child here, but all she sees is the pain and confusion and fear that Tegan Erin Farrow has caused.

She knows what she has to do. She knows that Tegan goes to that Bar. Gwen knows that she remembers a few things. She knows that Tegan's going to find out about them soon, if she keeps up this path. She knows that she's scared. She is too. She knows that Jack wants to see her, for what reason she does not know. She doesn't want to do this. But if Torchwood were to stay a secret, she has to do this. If Jack were to stay a normal, healthy human being, she has to do this. If Gwen's family is to stay undisturbed, she knows she has to do this.

She checks her pocket.

It's still there.

Gwen smiles. She stands. She sighs. She grabs her purse. She walks out of the hospital into the city. Rhys is home with her mother and little Lisa Toshiko Williams and little Ianto Owen Williams. Twins. She should be happy. She doesn't know why She's not. Maybe she's not a good mother. She stops thinking. Gwen's in the street now. She takes the bus to the string of pubs by the pier.

She sees the black double doors.

She walks in.

She smiles.

Sitting directly across the room from her is a silver-eyed girl with a cup of tea in her hands, looking around the room and trying to meet people's eyes. Once she does her own just slips to the next person. She met Gwen's eyes. She looked to the man beside her. She looked and looked until the whole room was scanned. She looked back down, frowning. Gwen smirked. She stood and walked, very quickly, to the ladies. Gwen rushes over to her seat.

Gwen smiles.

She's done it.

She's sitting patiently and then she arrives, looking at Gwen, then her tea, then back at Gwen. She pulls a smile across her face. It's friendly and apologetic.

'I'm sorry; I thought this was my husband's booth! I'm such a ditz. I'll be off then.' Gwen stands and makes her way across the room. She looks back. The girl drinks the tea. Gwen grins devilishly. Goodbye, Tegan Erin Farrow. For good.

_The retcon is working her system now, _Gwen thinks as she makes her way back to the flat. _She'll be out when she gets home. And then she'll be gone forever. And Jack will be all right. And Rhys and I and the twins will be all right. And there will be no more _

_Sidewalks being stepped on, no more confusion and no more anger. It was for the best. _

Little did she know, a tall man in a navy war coat was sitting in that very restaurant, a perception filter draped around the nape of his neck. He watched his coworker exit the restaurant. He watched the silver-eyed woman called Tegan sip her tea. He watched as she slowly stopped looking around the restaurant at people's eyes, and he watched as she eventually crinkled her nose in disgust at the smell of alcohol and rush off. He fallowed her to her apartment; at least he knew where she lived that way.

He watched through her window as she slipped under her forest green sheets, as she slowly drifted to medicated sleep, and he watched the single tear slip from her eye before she was lost, forever.

And he went home. He went to his bed. And he smoldered in his burning anger at the coworker who took yet another person from him. Not that he'd ever had her.

And in that woman's final thoughts before she drifted into sleep, the blue-eyed man stood. _I'm so sorry, I couldn't save you. _


	13. The Inspection Man

**A/N: I know I promised that Jack's POV would be in 1****st**** person narration, not 3****rd****, but I felt that this chapter needed to be in 3****rd**** for dramatic effect. (AKA, when re-writing, I got lazy. Hehe)**

**Ch.13 The Inspection Man**

Jack sat in his car. He stared at the paper he held in his hand. A single tear escaped and fell gracefully down his cheek, burning a path. His face flushed and contorted in agony for a moment, his breath halting. The world stopped for a moment and then he let go, air rushing out of his lungs and his face calmed as more tears slid down his cheeks. Jack hastily wiped them away. He took one last look at the paper, the photo, in his hand before he put it in his pocket.

He sat for minutes.

Those minutes felt like hours and then days to him.

When the blood that had rushed into his head had settled down, when his heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal, he opened his eyes and looked at the residence before him. It was _her _apartment. He's done just watching as the memories of him slipped further and further away; he came to remind her.

He pulled open his glove compartment and looked through it, before finally pulling out an ID and putting it away in his pocket.

He took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

He stood from the car. He took a step. And another. And another. He walked to the house; there was no turning back. He rang the doorbell. He waited. Inside, he heard a woman's voice shooing someone—or something—in a babyish tone. And he remembered. He choked back a sob. He waited. The woman's voice was getting closer. He waited. The door slowly opened. Behind it stood a smiling silver-eyed woman.

"Hello." He stood there stupidly for a few moments, just taking in her sight. He shook himself of his silliness when she raised her eyebrows in a very 'I-don't-have-all-day' look. "My name's Jack Harkness." He raised his ID. "I've come on the routine house inspection—We're making sure there is no gas leakage." She smiled and nodded, stepping aside and letting the stranger—to her—inside.

He walked throughout the house, looking closely at the books on the bookshelves, the pictures lining the mantel, and the paintings hanging on the walls. A border collie came trotting out of the bedroom, yawning lazily and moving towards Jack, before turning and sitting down right in front of him, leaning her head backwards and giving him the 'puppy eyes.' He smiled and rubbed the dogs' head, laughing when she lay down and showed him her belly.

When Jack looked up, he saw Tegan leaning against the kitchen door jam, looking at him and slightly frowning. He swallowed, and got up off the floor murmuring a faint 'Sorry,' not looking her directly in the eyes.

"Have we met somewhere before?" His head snapped up, his eyes only briefly meeting hers before sliding to her shoulder. He was surprised—he didn't expect her to be the type of person to directly talk to civil workers. What's more was her tone of voice and words themselves—a frustrated sound. Why was she asking if they'd met? Could she possibly faintly remember him? He knows that Gwen had given her more than the recommended dose of retcon. He silenced his train of thought and took a breath.

"Quite possibly. It _is _Cardiff. Not exactly a small town, but small enough to run into a person a few times over." He kept his voice steady and calm—though that was a different story in his mind.

"Hmmm." She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes and a single eyebrow furrowing, as she looked at her floor in seeming concentration. Suddenly, her eyes snapped to his and her facial expression relaxed. "Tegan Farrow." She said.

"What?" He asked, looking inquired and confused.

"My name. It's Tegan Farrow. Though I supposed that's on your charts… Or whatever you look at for the home inspection." She smiled a friendly smile, one that Jack couldn't help but return.

"It's very nice to meet you, Tegan."

She smiled at him again, this time a softer, almost loving smile. He smiled once again, though this time it was sad because he was reminded of the woman he met at the bar who had sad, wise and understanding eyes. This woman now closed all that away for nobody to see. He wanted to help that part of her; he wanted to hold her as she cried out whatever sorrows she had. He didn't understand—what was so special about her that she can bypass the Hub's defense systems with pure will and that Gwen would retcon her and that he would want to hold cradle her?

"Would you like some tea? I've got ice tea, but I can also make some hot tea, as I know that's what people like around here." She called from the kitchen; Jack smiled at the sound of her hospitality.

"Ice is fine!" He called to her, leaning down to the dog—_Suzy_; he read off her collar as he pet her, rubbing her belly.

Minutes later, Tegan came walking out of the kitchen with two tall glasses of ice tea in tow, smiling at the sight of her visitor rubbing the dog. She nodded to Jack, who got up and sat on the comfortable sitting chair beside him, accepting the tea from her.

They sat in silence, both sipping their tea and wondering what the other where thinking. Jack stared at her and she at him, the tense air seemingly suffocating them both. To her he was just a familiar stranger—to him she was a strange girl who was, for all he new, an enemy. But Jack had a feeling that she wasn't an enemy. He felt that she was, quite possibly, the most innocent person he'd met yet. He eyed the silver band on her right ring finger.

"So where's Mr. Farrow? At Work?" Jack asked conversationally, breaking the awkward silence.

She looked surprised, confused, then glanced at her hand and smiled a little. "I'm not married," she admitted to Jack, "This is my purity ring. I got it when I was fourteen; a present from my Mother and Father." She explained, and Jack was even more impressed by her seeming innocence and confession. _But why does she seem so sad? _He thought as her expression changed from interest to slight agony.

"Did you stick to it? The purity, I mean." He asked, then explained further when she looked confused. She smiled shyly.

"That's a little personal, but I don't mind. Yes—I've never had a boyfriend, never even kissed a guy—I've never really held that type of interest in a person unless I could see myself with them forever—And I never saw that. I'm sure my parents died proud of their innocent little girl." The last she said bitterly and more to herself.

Jack was shocked. Really? Never even kissed a guy? She really _was _innocent—and her parents—she said they were dead. That explains the hint of pain and bitterness when she said that the ring was a present. She's still in mourning. Jack wondered how long ago they passed.

Seeing the slight pain lingering in her expression, he leaned over and covered her hand with his, telling her that he was sorry for bringing it up and that it was really inappropriate of him. She nodded and said 'Thank you,' though he knew she didn't believe him when he said he was sorry. He knows how that feels. He brought his other hand up, and lifted her chin, their eyes meeting. "I really am sorry for your loss—I know it's hard to lose someone you lo—" He couldn't finish his sentence, choking off and trying hard not to cry. Ianto. His grandson. Toshiko. Owen. Estelle. Rose. So many. He'd lost them all. He was still looking into Tegan's eyes. They were so sad and so wise and so understanding. Just like when they met. His hand was still under her chin—his other over hers in her lap. He knew he was crying, but he didn't move away.

Her eyes were so beautiful. She was so beautiful. Her skin was so soft. He leaned closer. She leaned closer. She was crying now. And when they kissed, Jack could feel their tears mixing. It occurred to him that he was the first person she'd ever kissed. It felt like she was his first kiss. He felt their souls dancing. He forgot about the people he was crying for. All there was was Tegan. The way she talked, the way she smelt, like strawberries and pomegranate and the ocean and freshly mown grass. Her smile, her eyes were all he saw, her lips all he felt.

He opened his eyes when they broke for air. He didn't even know when he closed them. He stared at Tegan. She was breathing hard. It sent shivers down his spine to know that it was because of him. Her eyes were closed. She wasn't crying anymore—though her cheeks were wet with her and Jack's tears. Her hair was a tangle of dark brown—he didn't remember running his hands through it, though he did know that it was beautifully soft.

She opened her eyes.

Took a deep breath.

And pushed him off her.

"Who the _hell_ are you? Why did you come here pretending to be a home inspection worker? Don't you even _dare_ deny it—I know a fake ID when I see it! Did you think you could get into some girls pants by saying you're _sorry_ for their _loss_? Unless you're really here for something, I suggest you get the _hell _out of here! I can't really report you—I highly doubt you wear that all the time and I'm sure that _Jack Harkness_ isn't really your name. So get out of here, stop wasting my time!"

Jack stumbled back a few steps as if she'd slapped him in the face. He was completely shocked. Suddenly she wasn't an innocent little girl anymore—she was a strong woman who wasn't taking any crap from anyone. _I should probably be glad she doesn't own a gun_ he thought. He looked into her eyes once again. They were hard stones—but underneath that he could she that she was truly pained and confused. He sat down in the armchair again, suddenly uncomfortable but he knew that he had to tell her the truth.

"My name _is _Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness. You're right about the ID—I don't work for home inspection. I'm in a special operation team called _Torchwood_. I need you to listen closely to everything I have to say—it's vitally important information that shouldn't be shared with civilians. I didn't come here on the intention to kiss you—And I'm sorry for that. I came here because I wanted to see if you remembered anything that had happened to you a few weeks ago. A colleague of mine went behind my back and slipped an amnesia pill into your tea. At a bar. The same Bar that we met. You had came into it looking disgusted and confused and a little sad, and then accidentally knocked into a waiter, sending the drinks crashing to the ground. You helped him gather the glass, and he went to get a mop. I came over and helped you a bit. You looked at me a little shocked. Then I took my things and left the Bar. You followed me. There's an entrance to my building—right by a Sidewalk. The Sidewalk has security defenses—I don't want to explain the system. I hardly know it myself.

"You're not supposed to be able to get even close to the Sidewalk without forgetting about it or ignoring it. You're not even supposed to notice it. I saw you on the security videos—you were staring straight at it—walking straight towards it. I heightened the defenses. When it's that high, you're not supposed to get even twenty feet within it, unless you had some type of protector. The system ran a scan on you—neither protectors nor biodampers. You walked right up to that Sidewalk—one foot away! Then you turned and ran away.

"Since then you've been on my mind. I don't know how you got past the system—it troubles me. We keep meeting, too. My colleague had a kid a few days ago. The same hospital you were in—I still don't know why you were at the hospital, you seem in perfect health—And you ran into her husband in the stairwell. Here—I have a picture."

And Jack pulled out of his pocket a picture of him, Rhys and Gwen. He handed it to Tegan, who sat in a silent fury. She looked at it, blinked, and then looked again. Her tears came down faster now, her face contorting in painful agony.

"Get out." She said quietly. Jack almost didn't hear her. He was desperate for her to believe him—he needed it. He stayed where he was.

She glared up at him, handing him the picture back.

"Get out." She repeated. He shook his head.

"_Get out!"_ She yelled standing up in a fury and advancing toward him. He stayed still. When she met his still body, she flung her fists at his chest—pounding against him and sobbing—choking out the words 'get out!' and 'I don't remember this!' and 'just leave!'

He finally turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. He could hear Tegan's sobs, and her feet pounding against the floor and the slam of a door—probably her bedroom—and then silence. He walked to his car. He went home.

He went to his chambers and took off his clothes.

There, on his chest, were bruises where she had pounded her fists.

He knew that his lips weren't really swollen.

He pressed his fingers timidly against his lips, closing his eyes and remembering Tegan's first kiss.

And then he bursts into tears.

He'd _kissed _her.

Then he—He lied to her!

At least, that's what she told herself.

But she knew that wasn't true.

He showed the picture of himself, a woman she'd never met—at least she thinks he didn't—and that _man_. The man from the hospital. She barely remembered that night.

But his eyes, they were so familiar.

She balled.

She ran to her room.

She slammed the door behind her.

She tripped on her pants, crashing to the ground the same moment the door slammed. Anyone outside the room wouldn't have heard her crash painfully to the ground.

She lay there.

She cried.

In a fit of fury, she balled the pants that she'd tripped over in her hands.

And she saw something white in her pocket.

She pulled it out.

It read:

_**READ ME:**_

_**There's a Pub with black doors in town—Lucky Jacks.**_

_**Hours:**_

_**Tuesday-Thursday 8pm-1am**_

_**Friday-Sunday 12pm-3am**_

And then Tegan remembered everything.

Jack.

The man from the Pub.

The woman that sat in her booth.

Oh, shit. I've met him—Jack. I was never meant to save him. He saved me. He kissed me. My first kiss. And I kicked him out.

Shit.


	14. The Internet

**PART THREE**

**Chapter 14-The Internet**

**Date:** 9/13/2010 8:14am CET

**To:** TwriterLady

**From:** Hack3rTod

**Subject:** Long Time...

**Message:**

_..No See! Hey there Tegan! This is Tod from High School, remember me? You probably don't, I was like a ghost back then! (Then again, I'm like a ghost now, but whatever...) So how are you doing? I hear you made yourself a writer now! I hope the publishers are treating you well! If not, I'll give them a stern talking to. _

_So, Cardiff, huh? Never would have imagined you being the one to leave the country. On traveling day, didn't you nearly scream at the teacher that you never really want to go anywhere? Who'd think that little miss Tegan Farrow would be in Europe, and I'd be in my Mom's basement? Wow. How are you doing?  
Look forward to hearing from you!_

**Date:** 9/13/2010 9:32am GMT

**To:** Hack3rTod

**From:** TwriterLady

**Subject:** RE:Long Time...

**Message:**

_Tod, from Computer II class, right? I'm doing... Well. I assume you haven't heard. I moved to Cardiff because my sister, Rachel, you remember her? The missionary? Well, she suffered a heart attack. I couldn't afford a two-way flight—that tells you how the publishers are treating me—so I decided to stay here. _

_It's not all bad. My Uncle Ricoh, I love that man, paid for my dog to come with me. I live in a nice little loft now, and my neighbors are very nice. The food here is great, since Cardiff is a port city. _

_I've also met a man. I don't know if he's lying to me or not—I'm pretty sure he works for something secret. But for some reason unbeknownst to myself, he makes me feel very safe. Warm. I just wish I knew a little more about him. I don't even know if his name is really Jack Harkness. _

**Date: **9/13/2010 9:10am CET

**To: **TwriterLady

**From: **Hack3rTod

**Subject: **RE:RE:Long Time...

**Message:**

_I'm sorry to hear about your sister. I know you two were close. _

_I want you to know that my user name is serious business. I still live in my Mother's basement by choice, as it serves as protection from my enemies. I'm a professional hacker, and my specialty is hacking into private government databases. _

_I'm going to look into this guy for you. He doesn't seem trustworthy, if he's willing to lie to someone as innocent as you. Also, his name seems familiar. And since the guys whom I usually look into aren't the best of people, that's not a good sign. _

_Just do me a favor, Tegan. Stay away from him for a while. Don't go looking for him._

_I'll check back in a week or so from now._

_Be safe._

**Date: **9/13/2010 10:25am GMT

**To: **Hack3rTod

**From: **TwriterLady

**Subject: **RE:RE:RE:Long Time...

**Message:**

_Thank you. _

–

**Google Search:**

Tegan Erin Farrow.

**Results:**

**w w w . SiFinovels . com**_ (remove spaces. Sorry, fanfiction doesn't even let you post fake website names!)_**  
**

_Short stories by **Tegan Farrow**... _

**The Little Girl and her Imaginary Friend**

_Found at the Following Locations:_

_-The Paragraph _

_Directions..._

–

_ringggggg..._

"Hello?"

"**Gwen, it's Jack."**

"Oh hi Jack! Sorry I haven't been to work yet, Rhys has me on bab-"

"**Don't come back to work until you're done retconning civilians."**

_Click_


	15. The Little Girl and her Imaginary Friend

**Chapter 15-The Little Girl and her Imaginary Friend**

**The Little Girl and her Imaginary Friend**

_**By Tegan E Farrow**_

Once upon a time, there was a little girl and her big sister. The two girls were playing in their family's backyard, laughter bouncing in the air. They laughed and played all day long. When the day was nearing the end, the little girl's big sister went inside to ask their father to make a fire, and have fun cooking treats in the yard.

And while her sister was gone away into the house, the little girl turned her head just in time to see the shiny thing on the edge of the yard. And by the time the girl turned her head fully, the Shiny had disappeared into the forest.

The little girl followed the Shiny into the forest, past the holy bushes, over the creek, under the overhang of the weeping willows, and through the choking weeds and overgrown roots. At last the little girl came upon a massive, protruding stone, its eerie newness in the century-old wood unsettling the little girl. But in that rock there was a small eagerness, an instinctive prowl urging her to reach out, to touch the alien-thing. And when she did, A glowing, mysterious gas expelled from it, traveling throughout the air until it settled in front of the frightened little girl.

"Help me." The wavering, old, wise voice spoke clearly through the little girls mind, all fear and anxiety vanishing, leaving silence.

"How? How can I help you? Please tell me!" The little girl spoke loud, sure of her own words, as they seemingly came from deep in her soul.

"I'm dying." The spirit spoke, its ancient voice bellowing in the forest. "I need time to heal, before I can return home."

The girl nodded, seeming to understand. "You need rest! Let me help you!" She shouted, though she knew that the spirit would hear her if she only but whispered.

The spirit faltered, weakening. "You may only help me, if you give me a piece of your soul."

The little girl nodded once again, agreeing to a silent contract. The glowing, misting cloud surrounded her before suddenly it was gone. The little girl breathed a deep, solemn breath. The noise of the wood stilled, the wind quieting. The little girl felt full, wise.

She walked the path to her home, following the stepping stones in her mind. When she emerged from the forest, the silence shattered with a thousand cries of a mother finding her daughter, once lost.

That night, when the girl changed into her bedclothes, she found a long, ugly scar that ran lengthily along her stomach, white and healing.


End file.
